by Deanna Chase
What had Scarlet said to get him riled up like this? I didn’t know and, frankly, I didn’t care. Well boo, frickin’ hoo. “In case you haven’t noticed, I need you.” For once. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“I have to, Lizzie.” He stalked toward the bike, yanking on his black leather gloves. “Besides, we’re not going to get too much training done without your switch stars. They’re back in my wreck of an SUV, along with something else I have to retrieve.”
“Don’t you give me that,” I said, keeping pace with him. If anyone had a right to be annoyed, it was me. Everyone was counting on me, on us. “What about, ‘I’ve got your back, Lizzie? You can count on me, Lizzie?’” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “When you’re finished training me, you can build a tent and camp out there for all I care. But right now, your job is to help me release my powers.”
He appeared to think about it for a nanosecond. “No,” he said, checking the knife at his hip. And the knife in his boot. And the dagger in his back pocket. Holy Hades. “While I’m gone, you will practice releasing your powers.”
“Are you kidding?” I wasn’t going to sit around pondering while Grandma suffered and he raided the Red Skull for some hoo-ha bit of dangerous magic Ant Eater probably had brewing in the men’s toilet.
Grandma was in the first layer of hell, and sinking. Ant Eater lent me out to the werewolves on what sounded suspiciously like a demon hit job and now Dimitri—my protector, my trainer—was about to ride off.
“This Harley’s not leaving until I say so.” I dashed around him and climbed up on the bike, my tiger striped pants catching on the leather seat, my feet not quite reaching the running boards.
Yeah, yeah he could have lifted me off like an afterthought. But I had a feeling he was a closet gentleman. Or at least not the type of guy to toss me Jerry Springer style off the bike.
I was right.
“You don’t get it, princess.” He glowered at me. “This isn’t about us.”
“Then what’s it about?” I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Look,” he snapped. “We had a deal, remember? I protect you. You do as I say.”
In his dreams. “Our deal is simple. You train me. Now.”
He dug a hand through his thick dark hair. “I’m not trying to pull anything over on you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a wry smile. “Trust me.”
“Like I did right before you chained me to a tree?”
“Hey,” he barked. “I was out of options.” His eyes softened and he gripped my wrist, sliding his thumb over the sensitive skin underneath. He leaned close enough to kiss. “Besides, it wasn’t all bad, was it?”
He’d held me against that tree and done delicious things. I fought back a blush just thinking about it.
“In your dreams.” Dang, he was one hundred percent male and he was going to be a pain in my rump if I didn’t watch it. For some girls, it would be the ultimate fantasy to receive a huge, honking emerald from a man like Dimitri. But I knew all too well about the strings attached.
I’d felt his kiss right down to my toes. Right before he chained me to a walnut tree.
Well he wasn’t going to schnooker me this time. I ducked out of his embrace. “You are not getting on this bike.”
He threw one leg over the Harley and slid in front of me before I knew it. He tossed a wicked grin over his shoulder before he slowly, intentionally used his firm backside to nudge me into the passenger’s seat. I could feel the heat rolling off him. He held me there, against the back bar of the bike, the stitching of his Levi’s practically burning a brand into my leather pants.
Sweet switch stars.
“Are you two done?” asked Scarlet. I felt the color rise to my cheeks. I hadn’t even seen her walk up. “We don’t have much time before there’s nothing left to save.” She frowned. “And Lizzie, you need to go get your dog.”
Pirate had the worst timing. “What’s he doing?” I fought back visions of a ruined Rootin’ Tootin’ Breakfast Bar.
She looked at me like I’d sprouted wings. “How should I know? Frieda took him to the trailer where you’ll be staying.”
New visions of a trailer full of shredded toilet paper. “Did he eat first?” Pirate liked to shred things when he was hungry, or bored, or excited or really whenever he felt like it.
“I don’t even want to know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Just get over there. Your roommate can’t stand dogs.”
Roommate? Well, it made sense. The werewolves did have to take in a whole coven. “I would have thought a werewolf would like dogs, you know, due to the whole species thing.”
Dimitri blanched.
Scarlet rushed to explain. “We’d never put you with a werewolf. Do yourself a favor right now, Lizzie, and don’t trust a single one of them. Especially Rex. He’s gunning for the Alpha slot and you do not want to be within ten miles when that happens.” She glanced at Dimitri. “Hopefully, we’ll be out of here before the shit hits the fan. Just remember, coven stays with coven. You’re in the second trailer behind the dumpster. You can’t miss Ant Eater’s bra rack out front.”
“What?” It was my turn to blanch. “You put me with that crazy woman?”
She seemed unaffected by my naked distress. “Ant Eater is in charge now, and that’s the way she ordered it.”
“She pulled a gun on me in a crowded restaurant! What’s she going to do when we’re alone?” Come on. Dimitri had to back me on this.
Scarlet shook her head. “It’s a done deal, Lizzie. Do what Gertie would have done,” she suggested. “Buck up.”
“Oh no, you don’t. Don’t start preaching my grandma back to me.” If she thought for a minute she’d sway me with a low down, dirty tactic like that, she was crazier than Ant Eater.
“Consider it your first test,” Dimitri said.
“Then it’ll be your fault if I Accept the Universe and blast her butt.”
The corner of his mouth cocked into a grin.
He ran a familiar hand down my leg as I climbed off the bike.
Then he fired up the engine and peeled off down the road.
“I hope whatever you’re going after is worth it,” I said to Scarlet as she buckled her helmet. She shrugged, gunned her engine and took off after him.
Accept the Universe.
“Screw the universe.” I needed some switch stars.
***
Clouds rolled across the sky and the air felt like it was going to rain any minute. I stomped over tufts of weeds and various other lawn junk as I zeroed in on the trailer with a front porch full of bras. No telling why Ant Eater had fled with her motorcycle bags full of bras rather than her uber-rare herbs. No telling why Ant Eater did anything.
The magical do-it-all breastplate began to hum. Even Dimitri’s emerald knew I was in trouble. I kicked a rusty Budweiser can across the field. “Frickin’ Dimitri and his two ton emerald. If I could do it again, I’d tell him to stick it in his ear.” The metal warmed against my skin. I held my breath. It was doing it again.
The hum turned into a steady vibration. Creepy, creepy, creepy. Think of something else. Yeah, right.
I stood motionless as the bronze metal slid over my skin, reforming into—what? I cringed to think what I needed now. I closed my eyes and wished for a full suit of medieval armor. That could come in handy against Ant Eater.
Alas, my mystic emerald had a mind of its own and I soon found myself the proud owner of a metal helmet that refused to come off. Goody. I couldn’t keep my hands off my head as I walked the rest of the way to the trailer. It felt like a baseball cap without the brim. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just unnerving.
Ant Eater better not try to whack me in the grape with a baseball bat. My fingers probed the intricate designs of the helmet and skittered over the teardrop emerald embedded front and center.
“Okay, stop fiddling with the hat and face the music,” I told myself as I stood in front of the trailer I was going to share with Ant Eater.
The wood of the front porch had cracked and grayed with age. The entire thing rocked slightly as I hoisted myself up the stairs. Along with Ant Eater’s enormous red bras, as well as a leopard print teddy I refused to think about, the porch sagged under the weight of a rusted wash tub full of discarded beer cans, the front bumper of a car and too many petrified hand towels to even count.
I paused, blew out a breath as I contemplated the holes in the front screen door. Shotgun blasts? No question about it, this was the worst roommate situation I’d ever faced. Ant Eater scared the beeswax out of me. Part of it was the fact she’d tackle you first and ask questions later. But most of it stemmed from the sheer rage I’d seen in her eyes this morning. We’d have to find a way to make peace or it would be a lot harder to help Grandma.
I smoothed a few stray hairs out of my eyes and pulled them behind my ears. Well, she hadn’t thrown me off the front porch yet. I supposed that was something to celebrate. The sun peeked out from the clouds and I caught a glitter out of the corner of my eye. Tiny rhinestones clung to each red bra, forming little skulls at the center of each cup. I swallowed hard and opened the front door.
“Lizzie!” Pirate popped up from where he’d been curled up, watching the front door. “Am I glad to see you. I’ve been dying for some company and this lady is no company at all.” Pirate’s collar jingled as he skittered toward me. I scooped him up in my arms, reveling in his warm little body.
Ant Eater tossed me an acidic glare and went back to stacking glass jars in a small pyramid next to a beat up brown couch. She’d tied a black leather skullcap over her short silver curls. Chocolate brown furniture cluttered the narrow front room. Ant Eater had shoved most of it toward the back hallway in order to make room for stacks and stacks of pickle jars. I’d seen Grandma’s jars. They shouldn’t surprise me by now. Except—my stomach squinched—the goo in Ant Eater’s jars seemed to be alive.
“Hi there,” I said to her. I was not going to let this woman intimidate me. I picked my way across a yellow-brown rug that probably hadn’t started off that color. Lamps decorated with belching frogs topped white plastic end tables. Somehow, I’d expected these mercenary werewolves to live better. Perhaps this was simply an outpost where they stashed fugitives like us. I shuddered to think what kind of mission they had in store for me.
She hunkered over the jars, her wallet chain swinging from her back pocket. “Go to your room. It’s in the back. And stay the hell away from me.”
I felt my smile tighten. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was bullies. And she was one of the worst I’d ever met. I had to stand up for myself now, or she’d only get worse. “No,” I said. “Let’s get one thing straight. You are not going to treat me that way.”
She paused, her back to me. And that was another thing. The woman had to have at least two dozen jars stacked along the walls. How had she fled the coven with all of them? Perhaps Ant Eater had more notice of the attack then she’d let on. The thought made me very, very uncomfortable.
Slowly, deliberately she reached for a jar with—ohmygosh—a preserved human ear inside. I braced myself, ready to duck if she tried to throw it at me.
She held it up, her wide face flushed with anger. “Know what this is? This came from another smart ass.” Her bushy brows plummeted downward as she sneered. “I warned him. Said if he touched my motorcycle again, I’d bite his ear off and keep it in a pickle jar.” The distended ear bobbed in the grayish liquid. Ant Eater seemed to relish the fear tingling up my spine.
A nudge at my leg nearly sent me jumping out of my skin. But it was only Pirate. He danced in place on his two front paws. “Now I think this might be one of those situations where we let the old lady have her way,” Pirate said. He turned tail and hurried back through the trailer. “I’m all for fighting and all,” he called from somewhere down the hall, “but that is just wrong. Ohh, water bed!”
I wanted to follow him. I really did. There was no reason to provoke a crazy bully who would like nothing better than to whack me in two with the Samurai sword in the corner, or the very large machete under the coffee table or the—geez, there had to be at least twenty shotguns stacked in there. Not to mention the pistols lining the counter by the sink.
“Yeah, that’s right, Lizzie,” she said, daring me to push it. “Back away.”
I wanted to. But, “No.”
“What?” she spat.
I could feel my blood pounding in my skull, but this was no time to roll over. “If you want to share a trailer with me, there’s no reason why I can’t sit here on the couch and read a magazine.” I eased onto the squishy sofa and practically sank down to the floor. The thing was worse than a bean bag chair. And there were no magazines. Fine. I’d relax and contemplate the Three Truths of the demon slayer. Look to the outside. Accept the universe. Sacrifice yourself.
Sacrifice myself? Please don’t let it be today.
Ant Eater charged me and slammed the couch over backwards. Pain exploded in my head as it smacked against the linoleum floor. “You’re the only one who can kill Vald and you want to read a magazine?” She stood over me, fuming. “You high-and-mighty bitch, you’re the one who has to save Gertie. Time to feel some pain, princess. You’d better get used to it.”
She seized the toad lamp and yanked the cord from the wall. I scurried past the breakfast bar into the arsenal of a kitchen as the lamp crashed into the mugs above me and sent a whole rickety shelf tumbling down. The rack pounded into me and the cups sliced at my back as they shattered. I reached for one of the guns. My fingers touched the cool metal, and I stopped. I didn’t need to make this worse.
There had to be another way.
Look to the outside.
What outside? Outside myself? Okay. I’d stop worrying about myself and focus on the problem. Every red jowled, overblown, lethal inch of her.
I faced the crazy woman. Rage boiled in her eyes. “Stop!” I ordered. “Let’s talk—” She reached under the coffee table, grabbed the machete.
“Yeeee!” Pirate launched himself at her ankle.
Oh my word. Where had he come from? “Pirate, no!”
He chomped his teeth into her leather chaps.
“Son of a bitch!” She whipped her leg around and launched him into the hallway.
“Pirate!”
Ant Eater hurled the machete at my head. I hit the floor as the heavy blade shattered the kitchen window behind me.
This time, I did grab a gun, a Glock. It was like the one Cliff and Hillary kept in their bedroom in case burglars invaded the mini-mansion. Praying I didn’t have to use it, I shoved the hulking pistol under the waist band my too-tight leather pants. Pirate and I had to get out of here. But to do that, we’d have to get past Ant Eater.
Holy Hades. I’d have to take her down.
“Pirate, you stay put!” I called to him, but when I stuck my head around the corner of the breakfast bar, I saw him crumpled in the dirty hallway. “Baby dog!”
Rage boiled inside me. She could hate me all she wanted, but if she hurt Pirate, I’d never forgive her. “You bitch!”
She snarled like the predator she was.
A dark thing hovered over Pirate. A cloud of jagged black creatures—more than I could begin to count—swarmed, writhed to form a single, horrible monster. How dare she cast a spell on an innocent animal?
I glared at Ant Eater. “What kind of sick, twisted freak are you?” I had to get Pirate out of here.
My eyes flew to the Samurai sword by the door. She saw where I was going and raced me for it.
She beat me.
I slid the last few feet like a ball player sliding in to home and spiked her ankle with my oxford. She let out a howl of pain, but held tight to the sword. She ripped it from its sheath and drove the razor sharp blade down on me. It clanged against my helmet and ricocheted to the floor. Panic screamed through me. I scrambled backwards, into the corner between the front door and the breakfast bar.
My back knocked
against stacks and stacks of pickle jars. I grabbed the nearest one and threw it at her head. It smacked her in the chest with a dull thud.
“Get your hands off those!”
“Drop the sword!”
Her face twisted in hate and she charged right for me, sword raised. My hand dove for a red swirling jar at the bottom of the stack. I had to have that one. I aimed it straight for her sneering nose. It exploded at her feet with a deafening crash. Red smoke shot through the room, suffocating every surface. Ant Eater dropped the sword. It clattered to the floor as she fell to her knees, her hands clutching her throat.
I ran past her and found Pirate. He lay on his side, half curled in a ball. I pushed through the hot, stinging magic. It bit like a thousand fire ants, but I didn’t care. Pirate was alive. Relief poured through me. Blood oozed from the back of his head, and he was wheezing as bad as Ant Eater. I gathered him up in my arms and hurried him outside while I could still see the light from the doorway.
A crowd of witches and werewolves had gathered in the yard. They stood in shocked silence as I lowered Pirate to the ground outside the trailer. His breathing had grown even more labored. I didn’t know what to do.
Chapter 11
“Ant Eater?” Frieda called as she struggled across the lumpy yard in three-inch heels, watching in horror as smoke poured from our trailer.
“She’s back in the trailer. Something’s wrong with Pirate.”
Betty Two Sticks lumbered up, her Woody Allen glasses fogging with the wet heat escaping from the trailer. Heat? “I think Lizzie threw a death spell,” she told Frieda.
“What’d the jar look like?” Frieda demanded.
“How’d you know—” I hadn’t said anything about a jar.
“We don’t have time! What’d it look like?”
“Red,” I said. “Swirly. A pickle jar with a gold lid.” I’d wanted that one. I knew I had to throw it. I took a deep breath. My go-for-the-most-dangerous demon slayer mojo had gotten us in some serious trouble this time.